Comics and carvings
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: Emil's response of, "Thor," comes at a normal, calm volume. Christen's scream of, "Thor!" is quite the opposite. / Tumblr prompt: Nordic 5, Avengers, Norse mythology. I got a little bit carried away but it's ok because it was for dear wifeofbath.


Tumblr prompt: (wifeofbath) "Okay, Nordic 5 go see either Thor or The Avengers. Talk of Norse mythology ensues."

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**Comics and carvings**

"And then they blew that shit up!" Christen exclaims as he follows Emil in from the other room. The Icelander's expression is something between his brother's look of passive concentration on a thousand and one ways to kill the Dane, and a glint of fear as he contemplates a thousand and one ways to kill himself.

"Densen sit down before I blow you up," Berwald says in a low, steady voice from the couch, one arm around Timo who has snuggled up close to his husband, the other around Lukas flipping through the Ikea catalog.

"You wouldn't," the Dane presses, throwing himself stomach-first onto the ottoman as Emil cautiously sits in what is normally the Swede's seat. Berwald nods once at him to signal that it's ok as Timo speaks.

"I'm not so sure Christen, I did teach him how to make a mean Molotov cocktail." When Christen's face becomes pale the Finn smiles wide at him before leaning up for a kiss Berwald gives readily.

"That's my boy," he whispers in Finnish.

"What were you even talking about?" Lukas asks impatiently.

Emil's response of, "Thor," comes at a normal, calm volume. Christen's scream of, "Thor!" is quite the opposite.

"Charming," the Norwegian says, mimicking the Dane's accent.

"Oh come on Lulu-" Christen is not allowed to call Lukas Lulu anymore than he's allowed to call Berwald Waldy, which is to say not at all "-you know you always loved Thor."

"My favorite god," the Norwegian says, pulling back from where Christen grips the fabric of his pants to curl his legs under himself, "was never an Æsir."

"Vanir? Seriously?"

"What's wrong with that?" Berwald counters.

"Compared to Æsir gods like Thor? Um, everything Oxenstierna!" Christen sits at that, leaning forward as if to have an intelligent conversation and not an argument over gods they should no longer remember and hold to so fondly. "Thunder, strength, protection- that was Thor! He's got a day named after him!"

"Other gods have days named for them," Timo interrupts. "Friday is for Freyja."

"Or Frigg," Emil adds and all eyes fall on him. "In English the day is named for Frigg, not Freyja."

"Really?"

The Icelander shrugs. "The English are weird, we all knew that already."

"Well that's Christen's fault," Lukas states matter-of-factly, "so thanks Dane."

But the man isn't listening, his gaze still on Emil, a small grin growing. "You like Frigg," he says more than asks.

"So what if I do?" Emil immediately becomes defensive. "She was an Æsir and the wife of Odin, the highest of all the goddesses. She was a wife and a mother and when you're six and alone out in the Atlantic Ocean, those are the things you cling to."

When no one speaks after that passionate confession Lukas takes the chance to ask, "Feeling foolish yet?"

"Always," Christen says with a straight face; Timo stifles a giggle. "Out with it then Lukas: Ketill praised Thor, Egill Frigg; to whom did Leifr offer his praises?"

Deep blue eyes meet ones the color of the sky, Lukas saying smoothly and smugly, "Freyr." Berwald smiles wide at that, Timo and Emil looking to each other and raising their eyebrows.

"Freyr?" Christen repeats.

"Freyr: kingship, sunshine, fertility-" and at that the Norwegian becomes, if possible, more smug. With five men such as themselves it was surprising how rarely the conversation turned to penises, and then Lukas goes and brings up the most phallic of all the Norse gods.

"Sver-ig-e," Christen cuts in, over-annunciating the name. "He's associated with Sweden you idiot."

Lukas purses his lips in annoyance. "Well at least I don't hold the record for most wars fought against the Swedes then hmm?" Berwald chuckles inwardly.

"It is an honor to share that record with you Christen," he assured his brother in blood.

"What say you Björn?" the Dane asks. "Which god-"

Lukas, Emil, and Timo all cut in at once. "Iðunn." The Swede smiles while Christen blinks, the only one in the room who hadn't seen the answer coming before the question was asked.

"Why do you know that?" He throws his head towards the Icelander. It was understood that Timo, as the husband, knew plenty more about Berwald than the others did and Lukas, as the sometimes-lover, knew plenty as well.

"Berwald respects me," Emil says simply. The Dane scrunches his nose up at that.

"You didn't have sex with my nephew did you?"

"Would you be jealous if I had?" Berwald teases, Timo whacking his chest while Lukas tuts in annoyance. "But you remember surely our prayers to Iðunn."

"I remember being told she was why were immortal." Christen rolls his eyes, sighing. "We know better than that now."

"She still may be why," the Swedish kingdom counters. Berwald was always the strongest pagan, the weakest Christian; it's just who he is as a person, his connection to the Vanir goddess of youth still unsevered after centuries.

Digesting the information Christen seems to notice something. "Should I ask you?" he demands of the Finn. "You're not Norse but do you have a favorite Norse god?"

The room falls quiet as everyone looks to Timo, his eyes falling to where he plays with his wedding ring as he thinks. Berwald holds him tighter, kissing his forehead. "Actually I do have one," the Finn finally announces.

"Oh?"

"Freyja."

And perhaps it was always the outsider who would put it best: the goddess of love, the goddess of beauty, of war and of death. Frigg saw the future and Iðunn granted them youth, Thor gave them strength and Freyr importance. But Freyja kept them together through the pain and the bonds they shared.

"I love you," Berwald whispers in quiet Finnish into his husband's ear, stealing a kiss as Emil stands to take the Ikea catalog from his brother.

"Don't lose my page markings," Lukas complains as Christen pulls him to his lap, kissing at the Norwegian neck.

"You know Freyr's got nothing on me baby," the Dane tries before getting slapped.

Timo closes his eyes, inhaling deeply the smell of his husband, and smiles in memory of the calm conversation they had passed.


End file.
